


Ode To The Passenger

by SongPainter (OliverFans)



Series: Twenty One Pilots - Songs Painted With Words [4]
Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Inspired by Music, Meta Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 16:13:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8168069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OliverFans/pseuds/SongPainter
Summary: This is my metapoetry inspired by the song Ode To Sleep from the Twenty One Pilots album, Vessel.





	

A hand reaches out, testing for gravity on behalf of the human it belongs to.  
Reaching, grasping, wriggling fingers testing form and function.  
  
(It's dark here, this cold space is lit from below.  
Hues of blue, white and black.  
Black shoes on clear glass floor, white lights, blue glow.)

The hand  
swirls and reaches,  
and eyes absorb every  
movement, twitch and flex.  
The eyes  
belong to an inquisitor.  
An experimenter.  
The curious.

The eyes scour upward from hand to sleeve to shoulder.  
They're merely a passenger to this body, watching it move  
without clear understanding of who is actually driving.

The passenger shrugs and goes along with this ride.  
  
Most of the time.

  
Not this time. 

Fists pummel windows,  
thick glass scoffing at inadequate efforts.  
Screams are nothing  
but open mouths in a vacuum.  
And no one notices.

 

The passenger notices a shift to warp speed and they fall back into a seat.  
Hands grip a silver railing and a pair of concerned eyes look out the windows around them at the blur of life.

Rocketing forward they move under rainbow arches,  
Puffing through cloud tunnels made of sparkling dust,  
With shooting stars putting on a firework show above.

The passenger relaxes into the seat.  
A little.

  
The dark sky in what seemed like outer space morphs into blue sky and fluffy clouds.  
The passenger breathes more easily.  
For now.

  
Contained within a tubing, like some futuristic monorail,  
The passenger feels a slowing down.

They are slow enough to see pair of eyes  
And a soul; a pair with his own,  
Watch him go by.

 

Hands up at windows,  
Open mouth in a vacuum,  
Heart aching confusion.

 

The ride goes on.  
The passenger rails.  
The passenger wails.  
Hates looking out.  
It hurts to see what he's missing.

The passenger can only look ahead.

 Tunnel vision.

Blinkers on.  
  
Deny all else.

Deny.

Deny.


End file.
